Street-Walk

I spray painted my funeral against the tenement walls, I
spray painted my dirge on the
Tube Train carriages, I
Sung the hymn to the lost against the
Blank stare of the
Heroin youth that
Moves through some whispered reality that
Fades as soon as it has come to be
Melting in the aether like some
Distant dream of hallucinogenic moments that
Cast their delirium in the
West End lights and the
Silent-ghost movements of the
Night people as they ply their trade
Shadow dancing against the
Swirl-litter ballet and the
Snarl of cars that
Shatters the moment like some
Broken window, shards cutting the fingers, the
Blood-droplets forming their ode to the
Pain that condenses in
Cheap Vodka and a street that
Is both full of people and yet
Utterly empty
We sketch our portraits and
Hang them in the galleries of our agony
Eyes fixed yet
Following every move
We light a cigarette and watch the
Smoke rise in supplication to the
God of whiskey and old men, the
Juke box scratchily playing some
Blues song that
Fills the empty spaces between us like some
Fellowship of sorts in the face of the
Loneliness that sticks to one like
Carbon dioxide summers and
The perfidious scuttle of rats seeking
Fragments of take-outs, I
Write an ode to beer cans and the
Bleary memories of the night before, I
Write an ode to all that is lost and found in the
Distant places where the ragged people go…